And That Is It
by Sahara Storm
Summary: [Oneshot, IchiRuki] Ichigo does not like Rukia. And that is it. ("Nargunfrag," Ichigo replied from his pharynx, ducking his head, his scowl deepening.)


**Title:** And That Is It

**Fandom:** Bleach

**Pairing:** Ichigo/Rukia

**Rating: **PG

**Word Count:** 699

**Summary/Description: **Ichigo does not like Rukia. And that is it.

**Warning/Spoilers:** None.

**A/N:** Flexing my fingers here. Not sure if I've completely gotten a grasp on their characters. (Ichigo is the King of the Nile. Muah.)

**Disclaimer:** Not mine. Kubo Tite owns it all.

* * *

Maybe, just maybe, after all was said and done, Keigo wasn't that dumb after all.

(Not that it did the brunet any good; all it earned him was a niggling suspicion that he could not jettison, and a solid punch from Ichigo when he had voiced said suspicion.)

The orange-haired Shinigami came to this realisation as he brooded on his bed one groggy Friday afternoon. He hadn't wanted to bear the company of his usual group of friends that afternoon, so he had walked home extra early. Chin in hand, brows deeply furrowed, mouth twisted into a frown, Ichigo pondered upon the hypothesis that Asano had put to him earlier that day.

On second thought, Keigo _was_ that stupid. It was ridiculous, really. The notion that he might, you know, _like_ Rukia. Because, really, Rukia was Rukia, and… he didn't like her. And that was it.

She was like… his little sister. Yes, that's right. She was no different from, say, Karin. She was small, petite, dark-haired, feisty, and he protected her when she bore protecting. She had no effect on him whatsoever.

(Therefore, when, fifteen minutes later, the violet-eyed denizen of his thoughts leapt through the window, his heart began hammering erratically because… because… because she had startled him. Yes. And that was it.)

"Hey, Ichigo."

"What?" he practically snarled.

Slim brows rose briefly as the girl walked over to the dresser, slipping off her backpack.

"What's put _you_ in such a good mood?"

"Nargunfrag," Ichigo replied from his pharynx, ducking his head, his scowl deepening.

Rukia shot him a curious look, but did not comment any further on the subject.

A little while later, the orange-haired boy chanced a glance at his companion. She was at the desk now, rifling half-heartedly through a text book. Ichigo was reminded that he too had home-work to do, but he'd never be able to concentrate, not when his mind was so full of other things…

Right, so, in conclusion, he had no feelings for Rukia. Why? For one, she was Rukia, and in case he hasn't mentioned it before, he doesn't like Rukia. Secondly, she reminded him so much of his sisters, in every possible way.

…

Well, neither Yuzu nor Karin quite had that lustre to their hair that made the light catch it in just the right way. Or that unquenchable spirit that burned like a splint in the dark. Neither Yuzu nor Karin had blue-purple eyes that bore into you with blazing intensity. He didn't frequently feel like throttling the two of them either.

So, while his sisters and his… _friend_, had some similarities, they had their undeniable differences.

…For instance, while Karin packed quite the punch, she didn't hit _half_ as hard as the pint-sized Death Goddess.

"What the hell was that for!" Ichigo growled, rubbing his head. Rukia stood before him, hands on slim hips, glaring down at him. He hadn't even noticed her get up from her seat.

"Listen to me when I'm talking to you!" she yelled right back, fist tightening again. "What the hell is wrong with you today, anyway? You're all spaced out."

"Nothing is wrong with me," he snapped, peeved. "Whaddaya want?"

She continued to cut her eyes at him, half in suspicion.

"I need to borrow your History notebook, for the notes on the Meiji Era."

Ichigo turned around, grabbed his backpack, and rummaged around in it. Coming up with a book, he thrust it at her, glowering all the while.

"Here."

She snatched it away, her hand briefly ghosting over his.

"Thanks."

Giving him a final mistrustful look, she headed back to the desk. She did not spare the boy on the bed a backward glance, and thus did not see him staring at his hand, at the spot that her fingers had touched, as if in a stupefied trance.

It did not take him long to snap out of it though. He shook his head forcefully, and passed a hand through his hair. Right. Where had he been? Right. He did not like Rukia. And therefore, the solitary reason for the tingling sensation on his hand was because… because… he had sensitive skin.

And that was it.

* * *

**A/N: **I have the distinct, sinking feeling that I failed at that. 


End file.
